Ask
by SunKing
Summary: A man with many faces—shy in person but a god on the stage—meets a girl who carefully, joyfully discovers the real him. He's had offers from hundreds, but only one knows exactly how to ask.
1. Panic

**Panic**

"Do you like that band?"

Edward dropped the vinyl back into the slot and looked up, heart twisting in surprise. A pretty brunette smiled over the record display, eyes large and liquid and…interested? He shoved his glasses up with a trembling hand and shrugged.

"You looked like you were ready to swallow it whole. I figured they were your favorite or something." The girl's eyes twinkled playfully as they drifted to the discarded album. "The Smiths are always a good choice."

"Umm…" Edward clenched his fingers into fists and wished he could form words—any words—but she'd stolen them.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the girl with shining curls and glowing eyes dimmed. Her slender shoulders hunched against his involuntary rebuff, cheeks growing pinker by the moment.

"Sorry. You were just… And I… Doesn't matter. Sorry I bothered you."

She turned on her heel and stalked out of the store, the ancient hinges squawking painfully behind her. The rattle of glass punctuated her exit and woke him at the same time. His feet moved more quickly than his brain, so when he stood behind her at her car, he still had nothing to give.

With a sigh of frustration, he touched her shoulder. She froze but didn't turn.

"Sorry. I'm really sorry." His reflection in the glass showed three lines of sorrow on his forehead and her pretty pink lips open in surprise.

She still didn't turn.

Crippled, blind, he stuttered on. "It's… You're just so damn pretty. And you talked to me first. I was…"

Her shoulders straightened, mouth pulled into a sly grin, but she wouldn't face him. She'd won whatever battle was in her head.

"Stupid," he finally finished. "I was stupid."

Finally, slowly, she turned on wedge heels and met his gaze.

"I'm Bella. And if you're not going to buy that album, I am."

Edward's heart, so twisted and pained at hurting her, unfolded and swelled. "I'll race you."

* * *

It'll be short and sweet, updated when I get the chance. Completely unedited, so please forgive mistakes. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This

**Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before**

"I'm about to start my third year at Vandy." Bella paused to dart her small pink tongue out and catch the foam from her mocha. "But I'll never actually graduate. Perpetual student—that's me."

Edward handed her a napkin and indicated a spot she'd missed. Without an ounce of embarrassment, she swiped her top lip and grinned.

"Why?" He still had trouble forming full sentences under the brilliance of her smile.

She didn't seem to mind. Instead, as though completing his question for him, she simply answered. "Pre-med. There's this four years, and then another somewhere else, and then even more somewhere else. That's if I don't give it all up and work at Starbucks, which is tempting in many ways."

Her eyes darted around the small coffee shop as she spoke, wary that someone would hear her utter the dreaded "S" word in an indie store. "What about you?"

"Belmont."

That didn't actually answer her question, and there wasn't enough information for her to complete his thought for him. Her small frown spoke, so he gathered his thoughts under the weight of her curious stare.

"I'm a commercial music major. In my second year."

Her eyes lit up with amusement. "I'm older than you?"

With a return smile, he shook his head. "Probably not. It's taken me six years to get this far. I'm twenty-four."

She waited, ready for the punchline, but he'd given what he had and needed to find more.

"So, commercial music. Like a sound engineer? Music business?"

Her prompts helped him gather more words, but not enough. He started with a shake of his head.

"Performance, if you can believe it. Violin. Well, fiddle. That's why I'm so far behind in my classes. I'm usually touring."

Her jaw dropped, straight white teeth on display. The reaction wasn't unexpected. He was, after all, nearly mute in her presence. Instead of asking the question he expected—how he managed to play on a stage when he couldn't carry a conversation over coffee—she moved to the next on her mental checklist.

"Would I know the band?"

Edward shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing he could answer the question she hadn't asked.

"I do, don't I?" She bounced her seat, curls swaying against her long neck. "You don't have to tell me."

The words unlocked his lips yet again. With a dip of his head, Edward murmured, "Hayes Hawkins."

"Holy shit."

The Artist of the Year for three years running prompted that response from most people. A grin tugged at Edward's lips as he imagined her bow lips slack, eyes wide, and palms sweating. The next question was always—

"You're incredible."

Not that. He looked up, certain he wore the expression he'd imagined on her. She was supposed to ask to meet Hayes, ask for an autograph, anything. No one remembered the fiddle player.

"That lick you do in _House on Fire _gives me chills every time."

Then, _then_ she asked the question he'd expected first.

"How do you do it? How can you play for all those people?"

**Thanks so much for the warm reception, the recs on Twitter so far, and the generally nice things you've done. **


	3. The Boy with the Thorn in His Side

**The Boy with the Thorn in His Side**

"Sometimes I hate it," Edward confessed as Bella set aside a hat she'd just tried on.

They'd moved the conversation from the overly loud café to a nearly empty vintage clothing shop, and his pretty companion had taken the opportunity to treat the store like her private wardrobe. He made mental notes of the way a green scarf made her eyes glow, how the red hat had made her skin look like spilled cream. If she'd let him, he'd empty his wallet on frivolous purchases just for his own enjoyment of her beauty.

"But you're so good."

A string of pearls looped her neck, and another hat followed. She looked like a lady of class, of worth, and he felt like a starstruck teen.

"Thanks. I mean, I don't want to sound ungrateful. It's great to make money doing something I'm really good at. And most of the time I love it, too. It's just…sometimes I don't."

She draped a pashmina over her shoulders in spite of the July heat and tilted her head up to peer at him under the brim of her hat. "You're not giving me much to go with here."

Edward chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Obviously, I'm shy. I always have been. My parents had me on stage by age four, but I never really learned to open up. I can play the part sometimes. Leave my real self in the green room and be a rock star for an hour or so. But I always take that suit back off the moment I leave the stage. When people expect me to be that guy, to smile and dance out in public away from the thousands of people, I hate it. I hate letting them down."

The hat came off and was plopped unceremoniously back on the stand. She'd done so to give him the full effect of her frown.

"I can't imagine you ever letting anyone down."

"I already let you down."

She plucked at the material that wrapped her and twisted back and forth, her lip caught between her teeth.

"Besides," he continued with a glance at his phone, "you've only known me for three hours. There's still plenty of time."

"Is there?" Her eyes narrowed, a secret smile on her lips. "This isn't all I get?"

His breath caught at her forward question, hope surging and spilling over before he could catch it.

"You can have all the time you want."

**Wow, guys. Just…wow. Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so thrilled to hear from each and every one of you. I want to answer, and I may get a chance to here and there, but I promise you I'm using the only free seconds I have to scribble down some words and post them for you the moment they're done. Please, please, please (let me get what—nope, not yet) don't hate me if I can't get back to you. **


	4. I Started Something I Couldn't Finish

**I Started Something I Couldn't Finish**

Her slender fingers caressed calluses on the tips of his before twining the two hands together. After only four hours, the gesture should have seemed odd—made him uncomfortable. But Bella was something special, something that didn't turn up just every day.

He'd had his fair share of offers from excited women willing to attach themselves to anyone close to Hayes Hawkins. Even if he'd wanted to—and he never had—he couldn't. These women expected him to make the first move, to touch strange places on their bodies in moments of forced intimacy.

The curve of Bella's hand in his was more intimate than anything he could have experienced on the road, the sway of her hips more compelling than any low-cut top or short skirt.

"Dinner?" Her voice was low, a hitch the only thing giving away her lack of confidence.

Anything. He almost said the word but nodded instead. They ducked into a small restaurant with a microbrewery attached, and he let her lead the way to a table. After a moment of deliberation, he pointed to a brown ale and smiled when she ordered the same.

"How long are you in town?"

She had the best questions. Always right to the heart and never what he expected. He'd planned for awkward small talk, during which he described his effervescent sister and loving-if-maybe-misguided parents. Instead, she wanted to know how much time she had with him. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Leave again on Thursday for the weekend. Have to be back for class on Tuesday morning. They're pretty good about my schedule."

"Of course they are. What else would they do? Hire a second-rate fiddle player?"

He warmed under her praise. Sincere, simple. She didn't gush or stumble over adjectives in an effort to impress.

The surprising questions gave way to the expected, and Edward did get a chance to mumble about his family. He also discovered she was an only child to divorced parents, with most of her mother's traits but just enough of her father's to keep her grounded.

"He's the police chief in Washington," she expounded. "Very upright and maybe a little boring. But he's also solid and sure and the best man I know."

Edward eyed her flowing top and careless hair, her colorful shoes and dangling earrings. She was anything but upright and boring, but solid and sure fit as well as her jeans.

The beer was rich and full, multiplied by three for each before they finished. Heads light, eyes glassy, they stumbled onto the sidewalk in a cloud of her giggles. Day had disappeared and left behind two paths: one to responsibility and one to bliss.

"You have class tomorrow," she stated, interpreting his suddenly sullen mood.

"It's why I'm here," he confirmed.

"And the fun must end."

Her breath, warm and sweet and malty from beer, tickled his chin and then cheek as she drew closer. Slender arms wrapped him in delicious warmth as he received the first hug he could remember that wasn't accompanied by a plastic keycard or lipsticked phone number. And he could see clearly, glasses in place, as she pressed her plump, pink lips to his scruffy cheek.

A quick turn of the head, and he'd receive heaven. He could do it. He could tilt her chin with his callused fingers and claim that warm, magical mouth.

"I'll find you," she whispered. "I promise."

And then she was gone.

**I have no words. Thank you guys so much. Okay, I had some words, but that's all I know to say. Just… Thank you.**

**Also, someone asked where this story is set. Nashville. **


	5. Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved

**Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me**

As dawn stole his dreams, Edward stretched and smiled. The girl with the brown curls hadn't left his thoughts even in sleep. She said she'd find him. She promised. He'd given her enough that she could.

Were he a bigger man, a smarter one, he'd have gotten what he needed to find her. What he had couldn't get him out his front door. Still, he smiled.

He smiled like a man who'd found forever. He'd felt the same way after holding a violin for the first time. With the strings pressing into tender, tiny fingers, and bow too heavy to hold, he'd felt at home, and that home had never left him. With her hand pressed against the calluses those strings eventually formed, he'd been a child once more. Discovering, seeking…hiding. Struggling under the weight of something bigger than he'd ever imagined possible.

A glance at the clock told him he'd be late if he didn't move, so he rolled from the warmth of the mattress and stumbled into a shower, a pair of jeans, and one of the T-shirts he saved for the stage…just in case.

She said she'd find him. She promised.

The heady thrill of possibility warred with crushing doubt as classmates around him argued ethics and copyright laws. Words burst from his lips when anger was too hot to taste, shocking many who'd surely assumed he had no voice.

"Surprisingly accurate, Mr. Cullen." Professor Banner nodded with a smile. "Though perhaps not surprising at all considering your current portfolio. If anyone here knows about copyright laws, I imagine you would."

Heat filled Edward's cheeks as he bit back more words. His mark on Hayes Hawkins's latest album hadn't gone unnoticed. The attention was enough to seal his lips for the remainder of class.

As he stormed through the doors into the bright July sunlight, a flash of shiny brown caught his eye.

"Told you I'd find you. Though at least six people have probably reported your new stalker to the police."

Dark sunglasses covered eyes he knew sparkled like her laugh.

"So, Mr. Grammy-nominee. When were you going to tell me?"

Lips parted, words at the ready. Instead of a happy hello, he squeaked.

"You were in my class?"

**Your words humble me. Thank you so much for being so nice. I'm really glad you love them.**


	6. Bigmouth Strikes Again

**Bigmouth Strikes Again**

"Oh, now it's you with the questions." Bella pushed her glasses onto her head, and sure enough, brown eyes danced. "You were so serious. So determined to soak in every word. I learned more just watching you than I did yesterday with my millions of questions."

He bowed his head, lips pressed in a thin line. Flattered she'd sought him out. Embarrassed she'd seen him smash his fragile shell in anger.

"Sorry you saw that."

She hooked an arm through his and led him to the sidewalk, needing little more than a gentle tug to make him follow.

"Sorry for what?"

Oh, her questions.

"Your passion?" she continued with a squeeze to his bicep, a smirk in his direction. "Your talent? Your knowledge of your art? Why in God's name would you be sorry for any of that?"

When she asked a question, he had to ask himself, too.

"How can you give me so much credit when you barely know me?"

Knowledge curved her lips, intimate and sweet. "When's your next class?"

"Depends. Why were you in this one?"

"No one told me I couldn't. I just walked in and sat down. I don't have summer classes. What else am I going to do besides stalk a cute guy?"

Something sweet and warm curled through his veins, an awareness, a connection. She'd sought him, not for his fame or status, but just for him. "Tomorrow."

"So you're free?"

He was. He really was. Except he wasn't.

"We're playing the Ryman tonight for a benefit thing. I have to be there by five."

She eyed the noon sun, head tossed back and hair fluttering in the breeze. "I'd say that's enough time to get into some trouble."

Edward didn't question her as she unlocked a small car with her key fob. He set his bag in the backseat, fastened his seatbelt, and waited to see where she'd take him.

Music filled the car upon ignition, and Edward got his first glimpse of her blush. Before three notes sounded, a disc was ejected and tossed somewhere behind her. Eyes wide, pleading but amused, she silently begged. For once, he actually had words.

"It's flattering. Really. Want me to sign it for you?"

The engine's whine covered her growl, but just barely, as she floored the accelerator. Flustered fingers found the radio and selected a local station, which played another Hayes Hawkins tune. Edward's laughter bubbled over, rusty but sure, as she tossed her hands in the air and cursed.

They listened together without speaking, Edward's gaze on her to catch any reaction, while hers remained glued to the road ahead. Little tics in her cheek revealed her desire to giggle, but she hid behind determination. When the song ended, she turned to him and finally stole his breath with her smile.

"So what's a girl gotta do to get an invitation to the Ryman?"

Lashes fluttered, playful yet as serious as he'd seen her. Before he lost his nerve, he reached out a tentative hand and brushed the apple of her cheek with a rough finger.

"I'd say you're doing it."

**Thanks for hanging in there with me. Your nice words, Twitter recs, and ADF mentions are so appreciated. Please forgive lack of editing. I have no beta this time around, though m7707 would have done it if I'd asked. She's amazing like that.**


	7. Please, Let Me Get What I Want

**Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want**

"If you didn't play violin, what do you think you'd do instead?"

The potential answers were as numerous as the leaves overhead, as vast as the sky beyond. He could have done any one of those things, had he set his mind on it, but the violin had always taken first place.

"Not sure. Something where I wouldn't have to talk much, probably. I still think sometimes I'll probably end up writing songs so I can get off the stage, but I'd miss it. In that weird, scares-the-shit-out-of-me kind of way. Like the way you want to ride a roller coaster again even when it almost made you throw up the first time."

"I think I'd write books. Sexy romance novels."

Sweat slicked his palms; a lump in his throat crowded his answer. He cleared it away, and then again.

"Do you think you'd be good at that?"

The rustling trees and chirping birds accompanied her giggle as she rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand.

"Probably not. It's really hard to be good at that. But I love that feeling, you know? That beautiful, hopeless, magical, terrible feeling of falling in love. And I'd want to make others feel it all the time."

He knew the feeling she described. The twist in his belly, the roar in his ears. Her voice, salted caramel and darkest chocolate, filling his head and echoing for hours, even when she wasn't there. Would she taste so sweet?

She waited.

"I definitely think you could make people feel that." An unintentional confession, whispered. Sighed.

"Do I make you feel that?"

She did. Oh, she really did. But he couldn't tell her until he knew. He had to know.

"Why did you pick me?"

Nimble fingers crept across the quilt to rest on his arm. Her touch hadn't lost its power. If anything, the surge of heat, of joy, was stronger.

"I just wanted the album you were holding._ You _picked me. You showed me who you really are."

Self-deprecation escaped in a chuckle. "A stuttering idiot, too shy to speak?"

The grip tightened as she slid closer. Closer still, until her sun-warmed skin pressed through the cotton of his shirt.

"Shh." An admonishment, not comfort. "You were just a guy about to get something I wanted until you really looked at me, and what I wanted changed. Instead of putting that wall back up, instead of hiding or walking away, you chased me. You picked me. You're not a stuttering idiot. You're not too shy to get what you want. You're determined. And that's kinda hot."

**You're all so lovely. Thank you. Oh, he plays next time.**


	8. This Charming Man

**This Charming Man**

Dressed in tight plaid shirt and even tighter jeans, Edward was ready to meet the crowd. His rock star persona was almost in place, and this time with someone to see.

Hayes Hawkins had been compared to everyone from Mumford and Sons to Hank Williams, Jr. Until he'd outshone them all. And Edward had been there from the beginning, first as a shy high-school boy tagging along with crass adults, and then as an adult in his own right. He'd attempted to live the life for about three shows after his nineteenth birthday. Had accepted an invitation and a free beer and tumbled with a stranger with disastrous results. The night had been fine; the day after was the worst of his life.

He was made for one and firmly believed that one was meant for him. Maybe Bella; maybe not.

Only one thing before the transformation from stuttering idiot to rock god was complete. Glasses were set aside just before he followed the band on stage. His taped "X" glowed, a beacon guiding him into place as the crowd roared to life. The spotlight found him, warmed him, reminded him why he loved the crafted wood on his shoulder and the strings under his fingers.

As the first strains began and the roar built in intensity, he grinned in the direction of his band mates. Simply blurs in a brighter, crazier dimension, his friends nodded back. Jasper on bass guitar, Emmett on drums. Hayes opened with words in tortured tenor, stepped back to let Edward lead. And he did. He led the band and the crowd, like the piper—the blind piper. Flourishes bigger, tone richer, antics funnier. He'd always been a musician, but finally he _performed._

For once, he wished he could see. Wanted to knock down the wall between himself and the screams just to see her. Just to know she was there. Even without her smile, her pride, he laid everything down. Gave all the music he'd kept reserved in the past.

For her. All for her.

And when the show was over, he wanted nothing but Bella. As he pressed through the crowd, blind but finally seeing, dodged the gropes and the simpers and the purrs, he was more certain of his future than ever before.

Bella. She broke down barriers and pushed him toward greatness without even trying.

"Did you see a cute brunette with a…this…kinda green shirt? Loose and flowy and pretty?"

Emmett, only a few inches away, grinned and waggled thick eyebrows. "Find one this time?"

"Did you see her?" Edward shoved past, eyes unseeing as hands caressed and voices murmured.

"May be the girl who just walked out the door."


	9. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

**Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now**

Stumbling, surging, shoving his way through the crush of people, first to the door and then back to the green room. He was useless without glasses, could see only enough to get by.

With clarity came need, determination. She couldn't leave—not this time. He'd chased her once; he'd chase her forever.

As he fought through the crowd once more, thoughts tripped over her reasons. Had he been some other person, someone she didn't feel she knew? Maybe she'd seen that wall crumble and hadn't liked the Edward on the other side.

Touches, whispers, glances, all in sharp focus through the frames on his face, drew another thought to mind. The women who believed they owned him, owned the man they saw on stage—had she believed that, too? Did Bella feel the pain of loss just as acutely?

He dared not hope, but hope sprung anyway.

Bitter hands batted away advances as the door drew near. She was close. He could reach her. Give her all the words she'd given him and more. Give her everything he had, everything she deserved.

Sultry night assaulted, unwelcome as the arms of scantily clad strangers. Skidding to a halt outside the stage door, he looked to the right as someone slammed into him from the left.

Soft, sweet girl wrapped him in devotion, breath hot on his neck in tremulous gasps. Tears sprang, resisted, swallowed in favor of joy.

"You're here."

A laugh, a sniffle, the press of her lips to his cheek.

"You really thought I could leave?"

**Guysssss, this day. Thank you so much for hanging in there. I may get the next one posted tonight. Sorry I made you wait for this one. Hope you enjoy!**


	10. How Soon Is Now?

**How Soon Is Now?**

"I like my coffee black."

A flash of teeth in a grin as she snuggled into his couch. His couch where she looked like she belonged. "I like mine just a little too sweet."

"Fitting. I like dark beer."

"I already know this about you. Sometimes you tell me things without speaking."

Hands pressed, fingers twined. His heart swelled and nearly broke. Surely one person shouldn't feel so much.

"What else have I told you?"

A sly glance from the corner of her eye was accompanied by a soft smirk. "I know so much it will scare you, but I won't stop asking questions. I have to know if I'm right."

"I'm open."

"That's the first thing I learned without asking. There was this need for connection but fear at the same time. So much strength…and character. You cherish things. When I saw you studying that album, my first thought was that you didn't know what you held. That maybe you didn't know the band and were curious. But then I really saw. Saw the respect in your eyes, the awe in your grip. I realized they were a favorite, yes, but I also saw how you'd treat anything else important in your life."

Edward tilted her wrist, brushed careful touches over her palm. Cradled that connection and cherished, just as she'd known he would.

"There are two of you in some ways," she continued. "But they're both fully, beautifully you."

"That's accurate. At least, it used to be."

Her inquiring eyebrow begged another answer, but her mouth didn't ask. He smiled, twirled a free finger in her silky curls.

"I'll tell you, but I have a question of my own first. Why did you leave?"

Shock first, but then pride filled her eyes. Pride, perhaps, that he'd spoken first?

"I want to say it was the women—"

A low note of protest in his throat stopped her, but she pressed a hand to his thigh, silently asking for her turn.

"I want to say that, but I can't. You looked right past them; I saw. You didn't feel them touching, grasping. And it wasn't just that you didn't have your glasses on. They were nothing to you, and I know deep down that I'm not. When you walked on that stage without your glasses, I knew I was seeing the other you. I knew you'd left them behind so you didn't have to see, but it was also a disguise. A way to be you without being you."

For a moment, she let the words float, settle.

"But even that's not why. I knew who you were—both of you. Really, it was that, sometimes, things are just too bright to look at. You were so much bigger, more beautiful, and still the same shy guy who caressed the things he loved. I saw you, both of you, together at once, and the knowledge that some day I'm going to love you the way you love your music—it was just too much."

His world opened in a blaze of light, his heart exploded in something greater than joy ever hoped to be. Burning, burning so hot he could barely breathe, he wrapped fingers in silky strands and coaxed parted lips to his.

She needed no encouragement. Warm breath, smooth tongue, nipping, stroking. He gave her his whole self, pulled more of her into him, and she gave. She gave.

"I'm not two anymore," he whispered on another kiss. "When I was on that stage, I wanted to be seen. I wished I hadn't taken my glasses off so I could see you. You're the reason I'm able to be both at once—to love who I am and what I do at the same time. I need to be both so I can receive that love when you're ready to give it, and also be able to return it."

**So, there's one left. I warned you it would be short and sweet. Your reaction has been overwhelming and heartwarming. I'm so happy to share this with you, and that you're willing to share your thoughts with me. **


	11. Hand in Glove

**Hand in Glove**

Five years hadn't dimmed the devotion. Five years hadn't stolen that breathless joy, that jolt of fire, that desperate connection. So much had changed since the day he'd chased her from the tiny record store, but these had not.

She danced just outside his field of vision, lean lines clear when he looked her way. He hadn't performed blind since that night at the Ryman, preferring instead to welcome the applause and adulation, the respect and recognition. As Hayes Hawkins exceeded superstar status—a living legend among dreamers—so did his fiddle player.

And because of the love of one woman, one very special woman who knew his every wish and want and desire because she simply asked, he opened to the masses and accepted star status with humility and grace. He loved who he was and what he did.

As for Bella, she never stopped seeking answers. In class, in life, in love. Her looming residency relocation meant more questions, more answers. Meant retirement from the stage for a chance to simply write, to live, to support her as she found her own way.

Whatever life threw, he was ready. Ready with an open heart, an open mind, and a diamond ring.

It was his turn to ask.

**I love you all. Thank you so much. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I loved writing. Until next time!**


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